Breed Me Cursed Alpha (Lyra and Ronan) novel Chapter 3

Chapter 3

His expression shutters. “Emma was one of the casualties of my curse.”

The weight in those words settles heavy in my chest. Not just any casualty. Someone who mattered.

The room spins.

My knees buckle.

Strong arms sweep around me before I hit the floor, pulling me tight against him.

His skin is furnace-hot despite the icy air. I feel every ridge of muscle, every scar beneath my palms. My cheek presses against his chest, and his heartbeat thunders steady and unyielding, a violent contrast to the chaos inside me.

For a moment, I just breathe him in.

Then I actually look at him. Really look.

He’s beautiful in the kind of way that hurts. Not delicate, never that. Brutal. Sculpted by battle and solitude. A sharp jaw. High cheekbones. Dark hair tumbling past his shoulders in wild, uncombed waves. Scars slash across his chest and arms like old runes carved into stone, each one a testament to violence survived.

And his body. God.

Broad shoulders tapering to a lean waist, muscle defined in a way born from necessity, not vanity. The lines of his hips disappear into…

I jerk my gaze upward.

His golden eyes are already on me. One eyebrow lifts, faintly amused.

Heat rushes to my face.

“When did you last eat?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

He gathers me up like I weigh nothing and carries me to the mattress. Lays me down gently.

“Stay.”

He slips into the shadows beyond the firelight.

I sit there trying to steady my breathing, trying not to replay the feeling of him. Warm, solid, overwhelmingly male.

Trying not to think about how completely, unapologetically naked he’d been.

Stop it.

Minutes pass. Or maybe longer. Time feels strange here, like the air itself refuses to move.

When he returns, he carries a water skin and torn strips of cloth. He kneels in front of me without speaking.

“Your feet.”

I extend my leg.

His hand closes around my ankle, and sensation arcs up my thigh, sharp and hot. Heat pools low in my stomach, molten and slow, too heavy to ignore.

My body jerks, not from pain.

From want.

My thighs press together on instinct.

His hand pauses.

He inhales, slow and deliberate.

His eyes flare gold as he looks up at me.

He smelled it. My arousal.

“Hurts?” His voice is lower now, roughened by things he isn’t saying.

“Yes.” The lie leaves me breathless.

“Mhm.”

The sound rumbles from him, knowing, entertained.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see his breathing hitch. A shudder moves through him, subtle but unmistakable. His body responding to mine.

But he doesn’t pounce. Doesn’t move closer. Instead, he begins cleaning the wounds on my feet with surprising care. His touch is gentle, reverent even.

I watch his hands move. Long fingers. Calloused palms. Strength coiled under every motion, yet handled with meticulous restraint, as if he’s terrified of hurting me.

He glances up.

Our eyes lock.

Heat crawls up my neck.

His gaze drifts to my mouth. He watches, unblinking, as I catch my lower lip between my teeth.

A low sound escapes him. Half-groan, half-growl.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Bite your lip like that.” His grip around my ankle tightens. “Not unless you want me thinking about biting it for you.”

My breath stumbles.

He moves to my other foot, working faster now, tension radiating from him in thick waves.

Silence settles over us, dense, charged, edged with something neither of us is brave enough to name.

Finally, he breaks it.

“I have a proposition.”

“What kind of proposition?”

Not now.

Ronan’s nostrils flare. His eyes flash gold.

“Your scent just changed.”

My heart lurches. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He steps closer, breath brushing my cheek as he inhales. “You smell like…” His eyes widen. “You’re going into heat.”

No point denying it. “A few hours. Maybe less.”

He drops my hand as if scalded. Steps back sharply.

“You need to leave. Now.”

“Where exactly am I supposed to go?”

“Another room. Far from here. I’ll bring you what you need, but you cannot stay near me when…” He breaks off, turning away. “Just go.”

“No.”

He whirls, disbelief and something darker flashing across his face. “What?”

I step toward him, bridging the space he’s trying to create.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t understand.” His voice fractures with strain. “When your heat hits, your scent will drive me insane. I won’t be able to think. I’ll want you. I won’t be able to control myself. And if I give in…”

“Then don’t.”

His composure snaps.

“I have been alone for a hundred years!” His voice cracks like thunder. “Do you know what that does to a wolf? To an alpha? And now you’re going into heat under my roof, smelling like every damn fantasy I’ve ever had, and you expect me to just…”

He stops. Chest heaving.

We stare at each other.

“I know what I’m asking,” I say softly.

“Do you?”

“Yes.” Another step. “And I know what I need.”

“What is that?”

I meet his eyes without flinching.

“I want you to mark me. Tonight.”